


Daughter of the Island

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: DMC Moms Week, Demon Baby, Family Fluff, Gen, Lore Reimagining, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Matier knows, when she walks by the sea to find a small white shape floating in the water, that the happenstance is guided by fate. She waddles without hesitation in the shallow water and picks up the minuscule creature wrapped in its own wings, white feathers hiding a small beak. Its very body glows faintly, its light weak but still alive. The demonic energy is faint, but unmistakable.Matier touches the dark claws of its hand, then the even blacker talons. When they reflexively contract around her finger, prickling the skin, she smiles and runs her thumb over them.--A series of small standalones about Lucia growing up on Dumary Island, for some good mother & daughter feels and a revisiting of DMC2 Lore. Written for DMC Moms Week 2020
Relationships: Matier & Lucia
Comments: 34
Kudos: 43





	1. Feathered Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Giving these two queens some love!!!

Matier is no fool. Decades have turned to centuries under her watchful eye. She knows that fate is in everything and that coincidence is only one of its many names. Lately, Dumary Island has been changing--on its surface, where the Ouroboros Company is building, but in its very earth, too. Evil seeps within its bones, oh so slowly, careful not to reveal its shape yet.

It will emerge, however. She knows it will, as it has so long ago, when Sparda came to the island.

And so Matier knows, when she walks by the sea to find a small white shape floating in the water, that the happenstance is guided by fate. She waddles without hesitation in the shallow water and picks up the minuscule creature wrapped in its own wings, white feathers hiding a small beak. Its very body glows faintly, its light weak but still alive. The demonic energy is faint, but unmistakable.

Matier touches the dark claws of its hand, then the even blacker talons. When they reflexively contract around her finger, prickling the skin, she smiles and runs her thumb over them. The baby’s body is cold, but it is still alive. She cradles it closer and trudges out of the water, humming an old French nurse rhyme.

###

Lucia.

That will be her name. Matier decides it as she watches the soft light from the baby’s body brighten as she dries and warms, only to get absorbed within the feathers then fade as Lucia’s form changes, feathers turning to human skin, wings vanishing behind her. Lucia has soft tanned skin and a significant tuft of bright red hair. Her legs and arms are long and thinner than Matier likes on a baby, but she reminds herself she found this one floating alone. There will be ample time to fatten her up.

Matier’s fellow clansmen do not all agree with her decision to raise Lucia as her own. Some say she is far too old for the demands of a newborn--as if age had ever stopped Matier from anything--but most are wary of Lucia’s nature. One of the younger members dared to call her a timebomb. Matier had laughed at him, then told him the only thing Lucia was a timebomb for was a full diaper. Much of the tension had dissipated then, and Matier knew the clan would set aside their misgivings with time. Vie de Marli survived through mutual trust for decades, and her wisdom had carried her through many dangerous crises.

It has been more than a century since Matier has had a child of her own, but as she nestles Lucia against her wrinkled chest and watches dark eyes open to take in the world, she remembers instantly--the heat of a baby’s body, the thread of fear never too far from your heart, the weight in her arms and lightness in her soul. She sets one wrinkled finger against Lucia’s nose and chuckles as the baby’s brow furrows.

“You are one of us, now, mon ange. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

###

Lucia learns to walk so fast, Matier wonders where the last months vanished to. Time has always been a slippery concept, prompt to disappear in a blink or stretch on endlessly, but she had forgotten how it escaped any pretense of normalcy once you added a baby in the equation. It feels like she found Lucia only yesterday, and the little girl already waddles around the living room on her own, hands outstretched and ready to grab everything she can find.

Words do not yet come to her, but Lucia has learned that exclaiming “Ma’!” very loudly will get her attention. Matier knows she is repeating the start of her name, not calling her mother, yet it warms her heart all the same. She loves this child as if she were her own daughter, and in truth she has already long since stopped thinking of Lucia as anything but. And so when the girl reaches for books far too heavy for her, on a shelf too high, Matier heaves her creaking body with all the speed she can muster, wobbles across the room with a fond sigh, and scoops her up in her spindly arms. Lucia screams with surprised joy and turns around, her bright smile lighting up the room. Matier drops a peck on her forehead, then passes her old hand over her skull, bringing down the fluffy red hair sticking up in the air.

“Do you want a story?”

Lucia claps her hands then sticks one over Matier’s lips with a series of appreciative coos. Matier kisses the inside of the tiny hand, drawing happy giggles out of Lucia, and they settle together in the rocking chair. She picks the first book out of the pile, _The Dancing Potato_ \--one a little long for Lucia’s age, but her favourite. It asks whether dancing potatoes or pencils with glasses are possible, only to answer with “No, they aren’t!” until the very last page.

“Is this possible… a ticklish baby?” Matier asks, before giving in to her favourite part diving upon Lucia’s poor belly, exclaiming, “Yes, it is!”

The book always drops from her lap then, sliding to the ground as Lucia screams and laughs, her small arms flailing about.


	2. Island Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unnatural illness has taken over Lucia. Desperate for a cure (and some sleep), Matier seeks Dumary Island's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Underdevelopped lore is just a writer's opportunity to go hog wild, and you can bet I was thrilled to get my grubby hands on DMC2's. :D

Lucia will not stop crying. She is in distress, her pain clear, her fever running high. It is the third day of her illness, its impact cresting, a wave threatening to crash. Matier mistook the onset for a new tooth, but she feels now the demon sickness in the air. Something is up, a gathering of cancerous power, and she fears it is trying to root itself in her daughter. 

Vie de Marli has gathered a great number of cures and rituals through time, some recorded on paper, others kept alive through speech alone. She knows many herself, their truth embedded in her mind and soul. At first she hesitates. They are human remedies, meant for the human spirit, and though Lucia’s growth and love follows human norms, Matier knows she is different--as is this illness. Still… she cannot abide inaction. It makes her restless, even in her old age. Especially in her old age, in truth; it has become expected of her, and Matier has never been one to bend to expectations. 

So she tries a simple ritual to ward off demons, one that her tiny sick baby can easily withstand. Lucia wails for the entire preparation, as she has for the past hours. Part of Matier has learned to block it out, centuries of patience brought to bear to keep herself from snapping at the incessant cries, but it still grates her heart, all this suffering. Incense fills the living room as she casts, and the smoke from it swirls above Lucia. It darkens, an ominous cloud above her, and she goes silent. Matier exhales; the sudden silence is more a relief than she cares to admit.

Then the smoke’s swirling turns into a more defined circling, gathering like a hurricane and plunging down. Matier’s heart climbs into her throat and she almost snuffs out the candles, but she has long since learned that patience is as key to success as proactiveness. Matier presses her lips together, and as the smoke seeps into Lucia’s plump belly, her body reacts. A turquoise glow envelops her, little feathers sprout along her skin, and her nose and mouth fuse into a beak. She is shifting, but the transformation is fickle, the energy sizzling and flickering. The form holds for now, however, and a turquoise mist lifts out and dissipates.

Matier stares where it was, her heart pounding. Lucia still holds her demon form, and she can feel the energy drifting around her, out of her… into the island. She can feel Dumary Island calling, its ancient power responding to Lucia’s. The earth here is taken with a sickness of its own. It recognizes kin, and it seeks to protect her, as it has been trying to protect itself. Fate has already tied Lucia to Dumary Island, and Matier knows better than to argue.

She finds a long shawl and wraps it around her, tucking Lucia within the folds of the fabric, careful with her wings. Matier cannot help but smile at the softness of down feathers. It is hard to think of this form as a dangerous devil’s, even though she knows Lucia will one day grow into a formidable fighter, even with minimal training. At the moment, it is small and cute, too round and delicate to feel remotely threatening. It is also burning with fever, even now, and Matier puts aside her idle thoughts, secures Lucia firmly, and heads into the night.

Hard rain pours down on her. She tugs her hood down, brings a wrinkled hand over Lucia’s head, protecting her from most of the rain, and soldiers on, following the threads of fate and power she feels in her soul. They carry her out of the village, way past the last lamp post, but she does not mind. She knows the trails better than her own body, better than anything else in this world. Matier’s bones are old, but she walks with the sturdy power of decades of battle, Dumary Island's rock foundation seeping through her with every step, its essence becoming hers.

This is what a company like Ouroboros will never understand: Dumary Island holds more power within itself than anything artificial they can create.

Matier follows its call, a small burning body pressed against hers as she climbs the mountain path slick from rain, sidles along the cliffside through howling wind, and even scaled down a sharp incline to enter one of the island’s many caverns. She does not know Dumary’s bowels as well as she does its surface, yet her footsteps remain sure, her pace as good inside as it was outside. The island guides her now, its will threading through hers. She passes underground rooks and softly glowing mushrooms, sharp outcroppings and dripping stalactites, the air growing colder, stiffer, until a deep, bristling power fills it.

Foreign power, Matier notes, though not entirely so. It has a devil’s aura, but it lacks their aggressive bloodlust. Dumary has made it its own, absorbed the demon’s strength into its core, and the air vibrates with the force of it.

She is not surprised when a turquoise mist snakes around a bend in the tunnel, almost alive in the way it curls and twirls midair, pulsing with muted light. Other clansmen might have been wary of it. Caution would be wise here, if only as a pause to better assess the situation. Matier, however, has over a century of experience. She senses no animosity here despite the devil’s presence, and her baby daughter’s burning body against her chest is all the reminder she needs to throw caution to the winds. She forges on, one gnarled hand tight around her cane, the other placed gently over Lucia’s small and hot head, the feathers soft under her wrinkled skin.

The mist wraps around her boots as she steps in it, whirling up her legs and towards Lucia. It is cool and has a strange presence all its own, separate from the brimming demonic power of the area. It reminds Matier of cloudy sky heavy with rain and salty wind on her face, carrying the strong scent of the sea to her. The mist beckons onward, and as the tunnel opens into a wider cavern, Matier sees where it is guiding her.

A quiet pool of water fills most of it, shallow but alit with the same glow as the mist that partly covers it. In its center is a stone dais, no higher than Matier’s chest, with a soft hollow about two feet long. A rock formation stretches out of its head, curving like a crescent above the dais proper, and a tear-shaped stone hangs from it, shining the very same turquoise as Matier has been following. The entire apparatus reminds her of a cradle and mobile, and she cannot help but think it has been waiting for Lucia.

Magic fills the air, rising goosebumps along Matier’s arms. This stone holds the devil’s power, has it entrapped within its structure, and yet it feels as familiar as the island she has dedicated her life to protect. Matier smiles. Dumary Island has always been a mythical land, separated from the demon world by a thin, too-often-pierced veil. Perhaps it has learned to defend itself. No one in Vie de Marli has captured devils in this fashion to her knowledge--and she _would_ know, if it had happened. How else, then, could the heart of a demon’s power thus form? 

It's the strength they need now. As Matier enters the shallow water and waddles towards the dais, she has but one fear: that the Island perceives Lucia as a threat and is making her sick, here and now. She knows she would be powerless to stop it. Even she cannot fight Dumary Island, even with decades upon decades of experience at her back. If it is so--if the sacred land she has vowed herself to attacks the daughter she has promised to raise…

Matier stops. Water soaks her feet, its freezing cold a contrast to Lucia’s burning warmth. She caresses the soft down feathers on her baby’s head and swallows the growing lump in her throat. Matier does not want to choose between her home and her family, but she knows which would go first. She could never leave Lucia to die.

Her resolve hardens and she closes to the distance to the cradle-shaped dais. Matier unwraps her from the shawl, her movements secure yet delicate. Pale turquoise light from the devil heart bathes Lucia’s white feathers and glints off her small black beak. Dark eyes clip to her, and Lucia’s next cry has a strange, bird-like vibration to it Matier has never heard before. It’s cute, she thinks, and her heart squeezes with renewed fear and love. She kisses Lucia’s soft forehead and places her on the stone dais.

“Ô Ile de Dumary, heed my words.” Matier forces herself to let go of Lucia entirely. The stone above her head glows stronger with every passing second. “Lucia is my daughter, heir to my power and my vows. She is one of us, as much Vie de Marli as all of my fellow clansmen. Spare her. Protect her. Love her as I do, and she will give it back to you. Je… je t’en supplies.”

Matier closes her eyes, her plea made. The island’s power pulses through her, and it feels… soothing. A balm on her nerves, like a mother hushing her after a terrifying nightmare. Matier feels small and young--sentiments she rarely experiences anymore--but her fear ebbs away. A lifetime of serving the island has attuned her to its mood, and she knows she can trust her instinct. Lucia is safe with it. 

Her old heart hammers in her chest as the tear-shaped stone flares to life, its light stinging her eyes. She bears the pain and tears and watches as it snaps off from its crescent hanger with a crystalline _tink_ and falls down on Lucia’s down-covered chest. Her wails stutters into a sob and stops entirely as teal light envelops her, shining with such force Matier can no longer see through it. She stares, fingers clutching her cane as power bursts out of it, swirling in a whirlpool of mist around them, Lucia at the eye of the storm. Wind whip about them as the heart of the devil’s power expands outward then gathers once more, diving into Lucia’s winged form and vanishing with its light.

Left behind is an entirely human looking baby once more, fluffy red hair half covering her face, a few inches longer than it was this very morning. At her neck is a pale, tear-shaped gemstone. It has shrunk from the one that fell, but Matier supposes most of its power is now within Lucia. The baby’s minuscule fingers wrap around it with one hand, and she raises the other towards the stone formation above her head, cooing gently. Matier leans forward and touches her forehead. 

The fever heat is gone, as is the glaze present in Lucia’s eyes for the last days. Matier brushes the hair aside. Dumary Island has saved her, granting her the power of a devil once trapped in its bowels, but Matier knows this devil heart comes with a unique bond and responsibility. She thinks of the way fate had pulled at her, the day she found Lucia on the beach, of how she’d felt compelled to pick up her small, water-soaked form, and she suspects it had always led to this day, and no doubt more later. Matier is not fool enough to fight a destiny of such strength, not unless she sees no other choice. She would rather focus on the here and now.

“How are you, mon ange?”

Lucia reacts with a happy exclamation, and she lets go of the stone to stretch her arms towards Matier. Eager to be picked up, as always. Under normal circumstances, Matier would insist on Lucia wobbling around the house on her own as long as possible, but they have a long way home and in truth, she wants nothing more than to feel her healthy daughter against her. This illness has been an ordeal on them both, and as Matier crosses the pond once more and exertion sinks into her old bone, she daydreams of her rocking chair and a thick, wool blanket as she holds Lucia close.


	3. Every Stone Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucia is 4 now, collecting rocks and discovering a new hairstyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back to more fluffy slice of life <3

Every day, Lucia teaches Matier to love the land she inhabits a little more. She would not have thought it possible, not after centuries walking its shores, yet the endless wonder in her eyes as she runs across the stone beach is a reminder of its uniqueness.

Lucia never stops moving, even though she is sometimes a little uncoordinated with her gestures. She has slipped and fell more often than Matier can count, but her scrapes heal within the blink of an eye--or to be more exact, the flash of a certain tear-shaped jewel at her neck. 

The Devil Heart has grown in size with its host and never leaves Lucia, though Matier doubts the toddler is remotely aware of its power. She loves to play with it, which in turn seems to have given her an undying fascination for all things rock. Lucia can spend hours crouching down or letting herself fall on her bony ass, picking up the stones within her reach. She examines each carefully in order to decide which should go within her collection, and which can stay on the ground. Usually, this ends in Lucia scooting back with the bottom of her shirt or dress lifted to carry the stones in it. Matier has yet to understand what her criteria is, but she makes sure to comment on any stone chosen this way and help Lucia choose which to bring back home and place on her shelves, in her bedroom.

This time, when Lucia comes running, strands of her flaming red hair cover most of her face. It’s a wonder she can even see where she steps, though Matier sometimes wonders if she even needs to. For all that she appears human and has needed to learn to walk the same as other babies--and Matier will forever cherish the sight of her wobbling around with her knees stiff, tiny hands clutching everything she could hold onto--Lucia has always been gifted with surprising agility, especially outside. Whether it is the devil in her or her bond to Dumary Island, Matier cannot tell. She suspects the two have been intrinsically tied together by the Devil Heart.

Matier smiles as the little girl opens the fold of her dress to show off her rocks, tilting her head back with the widest of grins. Somewhere under the red bangs covering her face are two shining dark eyes, Matier knows.

“Look, maman, new rocks!”

She dumps them all to the ground, and before she can snipe one up to examine it again, Matier catches her small wrist. “Mon ange, you’ll see them a lot better if we get hair out of your eyes, don’t you think?”

Lucia pouts and blows the bangs up. “Done,” she declares, even though it falls right back in front of her eyes. 

Matier fights against her laughter. She knows that if even a chuckle escapes her lips, she will not win this fight. All toddlers are stubborn, but Lucia is more wilful than most. Matier slides her hand under the bangs, lifting them. “Let me braid it.”

“I like it in front.” Lucia pulls her head back. “I don’t want braids.”

“No? You underestimate the power of braids, love.” And overestimates just how many knots they can salvage with her hairbrush, too. Matier heaves herself out of her chair, her old body creaking with every movement, then kneels by the mound of stones Lucia brought from the shore. “Watch me. And if you don’t like it, we’ll figure out something else.”

Lucia crosses her arm. Her pout hasn’t budged a tick. “I wanna keep it in front!”

Matier has no idea _why_ she insists on this so bad, but her long decades of life have taught her one thing: humans of all ages have the strangest of desires and obsessions, and there is no point in arguing with them. If her little angel wants to experiment with her hair, then she should help.

She threads old fingers through Lucia’s bright hair, unraveling the many knots acquired since this morning, then gathers it at her shoulder, careful to keep most of it in front. Half of Lucia’s face is still covered by it. “Hold your head steady.”

Lucia’s eyes widen at the instruction. She’s had enough braid to know Matier is about to pull hard, so she stiffens her neck and waits. With expert hands, Matier separates Lucia’s hair in three strands. She doesn’t braid it from the top, letting the hair gather more loosely first before weaving them through one another. It is quick and effortless, and soon Lucia’s little braid rests on her shoulder.

“How is this?” Matier asks. It is a pointless question: her child’s bright smile is answer enough. 

“It’s up front!” Lucia says, before running her dirty fingers through the loose part, then lifting the braid as if it was a treasure all on its own. “Merci!” 

Now Matier laughs--a soft chuckle rumbling out of her, speckled with a quiet love which only grows every hour spent with Lucia. Matier has raised many children in her long lifetime, but Lucia feels different. They are bound to the Island, through fate and nature both, and Matier has come to think of the young devil not only as her responsibility and blessing, but as her own daughter. She bends further down, places a kiss on the still-available part of Lucia’s forehead, drawing a shy giggle out of her.

“And I can still do this,” Matier says, smiling.

Lucia immediately wipes out the wetness, which mostly smears dirt on her forehead. “You always do this.”

“And I always will. Mother privilege.” 

Matier grins at her child, a challenge in her eyes. She half expects Lucia to take it and argue, but instead her daughter leans in, wrapping her small arms around Matier’s chest. 

“Daughter priv-lege,” she declares, her voice muffled against Matier’s chest.

Warmth blooms through Matier. She hugs Lucia back, allowing herself long seconds to enjoy the little bout of love. Lucia tends to keep to herself--enough that other clansmen have described her as sharp and cold, going as far as using ‘unnatural’ when they thought Matier wouldn’t hear. This had earned the man a sharp “her only unnatural talent is to instantly pick out the bad apple of the bunch and avoid him at all cost” and no one had dared reiterate her child’s bluntness and general dislike of physical affection had anything to do with her devil blood. Matier squeezes Lucia, making the most of this moment, then peels her off.

“Show me your beautiful stones, Lucia. Let’s see which ones we should find room on your shelves for.”

Lucia claps her hands and immediately turns to the pile. None of the stones she picked are great jewels, but the sea polishes the pebbles of Dumary Island’s shores and leaves beautiful patterns. Lucia runs her fingers over them as she shows them off, and Matier dutifully comments on each, applying carefully encouraging triage to the little pile, knowing full well a hundred more already wait at home. At this rate, Lucia will gather a large enough stone collection to build a brand new house with, yet Matier cannot find a sliver of annoyment in her. She loves her child’s passion, no matter how many shelves it covers, and she could spend hours breaking her well-worn back, bent over piles, listening to the joy in Lucia’s voice as she picks up yet another stone and explains why _this one_ is her favourite, as if she has not described the dozen pebbles before it in the exact same way.


	4. Complicated Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Matier and Lucia discuss her fast healing.

Sometimes Matier wonders if Lucia understands fear. From the moment she learned to climb, she was crawling up the steepest cliffs or finding her ways atop the village’s roofs. Watching over her quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse, and for all of its surprising vitality, Matier’s body has rolled far past its prime and she knows better than to attempt to keep pace. When Lucia is out reaching devils-know-what perch, Matier instead wanders through town or along the cliff, keeping her eye out for a telltale flash of red hair. 

Perhaps she should worry more than she does. Lucia is still a child, barely past her eighth anniversary, and her daring overcomes all other senses more often than it should. But she heals fast and has yet to acquire more than a deep cut. Most of her scratches are gone before she can even display them proudly to Matier. Lucia has yet to say anything about it, and Matier cannot help but think it is for the better. It is, certainly, far more simpler in this fashion.

They have gone inland today, travelling together along Dumary Island’s paths to one of Lucia’s favourite spots, a fairly deep basin by a waterfall, where the water pools before it bounces back towards the sea. The rocks here are many, and slick enough to be treacherous, but despite hours of playing, Lucia has never once fallen into the water… unless she meant to. Along the waterfall is a small stone ledge barely large enough for her--one she will struggle with in a few years, Matier suspects--and Lucia loves to stand upon it, hands against the rocky wall behind her, before leaping down into the clearer water. 

Matier has lost count of how often she has watched her girl make the jump, so when Lucia calls out to her--“Maman!”--she barely registers it. She focuses on the next point in her embroidery, keeping it close in case Lucia splashes more than usual, sparing the child a glance only by reflex.

A resounding boom strikes through the island, shaking its very foundation. Dumary rumbles in reply, the ground quaking as if trying to shrug off the assault. Lucia’s eyes widen as the sudden movement knocks her off balance. Her ankle twists at the edge of the ledge, and she plunges down, far closer to rocky face than anyone ever should. Matier’s stomach heaves stronger than the earth beneath her feet. She leaps up, embroidery forgotten, and is halfway into the water by the time Lucia hits it.

Deep down, Matier knows she cannot have heard the snap of Lucia’s arm through the water, yet the sound enters her mind loud and clear. Whether it comes from her own heartbreak as her girl lands in the shallower parts and smashes against the bottom or is the Island, communicating to her spirit, the sharp snap jolts through her. She wades through the pond, taking the most direct line even though spriting around might have been faster. Those are logical thoughts, and her mind has no time for anything but Lucia’s lithe body, so small as it floats back up, her red braid like a streak of blood in the water.

 _She is fine_ , Matier tells herself, and a second later Lucia snaps her head out of the water, thankfully proving her right. 

Somewhat right, anyway.

Lucia’s half wail, half choke is interrupted as she sinks back down, too panicked to bring her feet under her, but Matier is upon her already, grabbing flailing arms and pulling her out. Here, the water comes up all the way to Matier’s shoulders, a fact Lucia--now taller than her by at least an inch, if not more--has taken great pleasure in pointing out. It makes dragging her child back to the shore harder, but Lucia thankfully calms down as she feels Matier’s hands on her, sliding into a strange stupor instead. She only stares, bright wide eyes fixed on the sky, her arm held close. Silent.

Matier tries not to let the uncanny reaction bother her. She had been quiet, too, that night as a babe, as they’d approached the Devil Heart. Matier holds her closer, cradling her upper body on her lap, gnarled fingers over Lucia’s tiny hands where she holds the wounded arm.

“Ça va bien aller, mon ange,” she whispers. “Hold steady. It may be broken.”

Matier _knows_ it is, but the swelling at her elbow is already receding, leaving ugly purple and yellow marks behind. Matier squeezes Lucia’s hand, never letting go. She can see the glaze of pain in them and it twists her old heart in ways she could not explain. She wants to apologize even though this happened through no faults of her own.

“Maman...” Lucia’s voice is small, tight and thick from pain still. “Is the Island angry? It shook.”

“It is, but not at you.” Matier pushes aside the wet strands of hair sticking to Lucia,s forehead and nose, her fingers gentle and reassuring. “You are part of Vie de Marli, and we are one with the Dumary Island. Its spirit nourishes us, and we guard it in return. But there are others who will not heed our warnings and refuse to respect the land they walk upon as they should.”

Anger flashes through Lucia’s expression, and for a moment she clearly forgets her pain. “If they hurt the island, then we should make them pay!”

She slashes her hand across the space in front of her and the sudden movement draws an hiss out of her. Amusement wars with Matier’s guilt. She captures Lucia’s fingers and pulls them down once more. “All in due time, mon ange. For now, let’s get back home so we can get a good look at your arm.”

Lucia should be too big for her to lift, yet quiet strength fills Matier, climbing through the soles of her feet, up her legs and into her arms. It has been a long time since she has last channeled Dumary Island’s power so clearly and the familiar, age-old sensation is a welcomed balm on her heart. If she is granted this strength, then the land’s spirit has truly adopted Lucia as one of its own.

By the time they arrive home, the swelling in Lucia’s arm has almost vanished. She sits Lucia down on the couch and examines it nonetheless, pressing gnarly fingers against the bruise in various spots and prompting Lucia to tell her whether it hurts or not. None of it does, apart from a small “it stings” when Matier digs hard where the purple stain is darker. The bone under feels fine, unbroken and perfectly set in a way that isn’t possible--not to humans, anyway.

“Looks like you’re all good, mon ange. Healthy and hale, as always.”

Lucia hasn’t been sick since that fateful demonic illness as a babe. Matier often tells her she has a good heart--an oblique reference to the truth, which she has yet to tell her child. Perhaps she should, but Lucia has already expressed feeling different and apart from other Vie de Marli clansmen, and Matier cannot bring herself to add to her sense of otherness. Children are perceptive, Lucia moreso than many others, and Matier wishes she felt as much at home among others as she does skipping from one large boulder to another on Dumary Island’s shore, the sea wind catching in her fiery braid.

“Maman...” A worried strand slithers in her voice, pulling Matier out of her thoughts. “Miss Ilia needed a cast for a long long time when she broke her arm.”

 _Why don’t I?_ The implied question shines in her girl’s dark eyes. Why is she different? Matier places a hand on her small knees. 

“The island’s spirit protects you.” One day, she will need to explain what Lucia truly is, but for now, demons are the enemies to her, threats to her beloved land. She is too young for the nuance and contradiction her very existence represents. “Dumary Island is in your heart and soul, Lucia, and with it you may live a longer, healthier life than many humans. I have certainly been around for quite a while.”

Matier cackles--a little forced, perhaps, but it brings a smile back to Lucia’s face. She brushes the braid aside to kiss her forehead smack in the middle. While this explanation omits an important truth, it is not a lie either. Dumary Island has adopted Lucia as much as Matier has. She is their daughter, demon and protector both, and they will raise and cherish her together for as long as she lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TFW you instantly feel sorry for hurting Lucia ;-;
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who read and commented. <3 I had a lot of fun exploring these two and building up some personal lore about Dumary Island ^^


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